Till The Sun Turns Black
by lilylittle
Summary: He had promised her he would never venture back into the underground world that had been his life for so long. But sometimes debts had to be repaid, and he was the one who was going to claim them. John/OC.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

Their chests heaved as their muscles relaxed against the stained hard floor of the kitchen. Their view was the ceiling and the fan that whizzed around hypnotically; the beautiful views of the rolling hills just outside the large windows that overlooked the countryside were ignored. They allowed the coolness of the floor beneath them to enter their clothes, their mind noticing the slickness of their skin and not knowing whether it was from perspiration or from blood.

They moved their heads to the side, equally taking in the state the other one was in with a raised eyebrow. Their bodies ached from the relentless exertion, their minds relaying the ambush from the beginning, taking note of what they had done right and what they had faltered on. There had been so many of them, all filing in as if on a conveyor belt with men stronger than the last. And it had been just the two of them against them, fighting their own and assisting with each other when needed.

"Are you okay?" John's deep voice filled her ears and she stared at him for another moment before a nod came from her.

"Are you okay?" she repeated his question to him and watched as he nodded also. John pulled himself up off the floor, feeling his body and aching bones protest against him as he reached his full height, whilst she remained sprawled out on the floor among the dead men that had attacked them.

The scent of death hung heavy in the room. The once pristine white units, floors and walls were now awashed with a crimson red liquid, soaking into every fibre of the furnishings arranged delicately around the house.

To an expert eye, every spot of blood would be removed from the house. No sign of an attack or an ambush would be evident; new furnishings would be ordered and would replace the damaged or stained ones. As John looked around at the once lavish house, he couldn't truly fathom the state in which the house had become as the mere memory of the clean and pristine house they had arrived at just a few hours before.

The unrelenting golden sun was beginning to descend behind the hill, trying to prise the last of its amber limbs over the rooftops and rolling hills that surrounded them. Warm tones replaced the brightness as the sun inched closer and closer to the edge before being swallowed up by the hills.

Their phones beeped simultaneously, and both pulled them out of the respective pockets, seeing the deposit placed into their bank accounts. They sighed almost in sync before Emily placed hers back into her pocket, though her position made it hard for her to truly place it back with ease as her muscles made it difficult to move. John kept his phone out, scrolling through the limited numbers in his contact list before he came to the number he wanted: the trusted clean up company he had used for the last decade. Emily peered up at him as he started talking.

"Wick," he began. "The usual service. Yep… charge it to the usual account. Thanks."

Emily peeled herself up from the floor then, and groaned as her body seemed to struggle against the most simple and easy task. She noticed John's presence move towards her and she felt as he lifted the jacket she was wearing aside a little, enough so that he was able to see the bloodstained rip in her cotton shirt and the gash across her skin.

"You've been hurt," he responded, a hint of worry laced in his voice. She glanced down at it, and shrugged. She had felt a hot flash against her skin, but she just assumed the assailant had hit her in the stomach with his fist, and not a knife. As John inspected it further, his dark eyes brooding over the wound, he furrowed his brow. "It's not that deep, just a flesh wound. You'll feel it more when the adrenaline wears off."

He disappeared into one of the many bathrooms, and Emily took a seat at the kitchen island. Her mind raced at the fact that she hadn't been more careful, one small movement and she would've been stabbed, the knife ripping through her skin, and then it would've been a different matter. Every movement, every attack, every single defence move was tested in moments of combat, and even though she had received extensive training over the years, she had made the mistake of not protecting herself the way she had been trained to do so.

She removed her jacket, discarding it upon the floor next to her. Her cotton tee clung to her skin, a mixture of perspiration and blood coating her body. As she glanced down at the wound, it looked far worse than it actually was. Which in her case, she accepted with a little pinch of anger mostly at her own defences.

John returned a short time later, carrying with him a first aid kit he'd found on his travels. As he neared her, he placed upon the kitchen counter and opened it up. An array of familiar objects was displayed to him and he picked up the alcohol gel first.

"Don't," John warned. "I know that look."

He'd seen it many times before, and it was always a look that unsettled him deep down. The sheer panic that would flash across her face at the thought of their mission having a difficult outcome always seemed to descend upon her once the adrenaline would begin to wear off. Everything counted. One action could mean life, with him or the two of them getting out alive. And another action would mean death, with him or the two of them finding their demise in that moment. It didn't matter if you came prepared for the fight, it's how you handle it in the moment.

"It…" she began but her voice failed her. "One inch to the left and it would've been it."

John shook his head once. "Well, it wasn't. Just be careful next time."

Emily fell silent then, her eyes watching as John took control of the situation and cleaned and patched her up. She held her tee up for him so that he was able to see better. Her mind was invaded with images of their demise. If she had been severely injured, that would've been the end of her and him. One sign of weakness shown to the enemy was enough for them to take control of the situation, and it could've been a different story.

As John placed a large adhesive bandage over the wound, carefully pressing around the sticky edges, Emily released a sigh. "You ever think about having a normal life?"

John moved his dark gaze to her for a moment before turning away and closing the medical kit. He felt her gaze on him as he slid off the seat next to her and moved to the other side of the island. She furrowed her brow and narrowed her gaze at him. She could see it in the way his shoulders tensed at the mere mention of a normal life, the way he physically moved away from her as if scared to open up to her.

Emily bit her lip and, after a moment, continued, sensing hostility in his body language. "I have," she began. "I think about it all the time. I'd like to be a teacher or a doctor. I've patched myself up enough to know my way around a human body."

"I don't think that would count for anything, Em," John smirked. "I don't think your patients would find that comforting."

"Well… I mean, maybe not a doctor. An EMT," she explained further. "Imagine the adrenaline rushing to a patient and knowing that you are there for them in their moment of need."

She had grown tired of killing people. Over the years, she had claimed a vast amount of lives. And though she was skilled in doing so and protected in many ways, it often kept her up at night knowing that she had taken someone's life. All she would be given was a name, addresses and a photograph, and that would be it. She would then be on her way to track down the individual and she would spend weeks setting everything up so that the kill was meticulously planned and didn't involve any innocent bystanders. The people she was hired to kill were bad people; but even so, she still had a conscious.

"But truthfully, I'm in this for a long time," she analysed, her own voice faltering at the realisation at how hard it would be to leave this world behind. Her departure would cost her, and she wondered just how big the cost would be.

After a moment of silence between the two friends, John took a breath. "I have thought about what a _normal_ life would be like, and… I do want a normal existence that doesn't involve going away for weeks, months, years on end, hunting and tracking down people who have wronged other people, and killing them in ways to ensure their demise. I never believed that I would consider turning my back against this world but leaving her behind is becoming harder."

"Her?" Emily's brows furrowed, and her heart dropped. She noticed he refused to look at her then, and she felt her skin prickle with cool anxiety.

John looked at her then, his chest heaving with a heavy breath. "I… I've met someone. Helen," he explained. "She doesn't know anything about me or what I do. All she knows is that I go away for periods of time and I come back."

"Do you love her?" Emily asked, and she tried with all her might to not drop her calm and collective façade. She pressed her lips together to stop her bottom lip from trembling, she clasped her hands tightly together to stop her hands from shaking uncontrollably. His gaze never wavered from her and she was grateful that she could see his true answer from the way his eyes spoke the truth.

"I do," he nodded. "It's a strange concept, isn't it? Love. I never thought I would be worthy of love seeing as I hurt so many, but…"

"I'm happy for you," Emily said honestly. She was even shocked that the comment had escaped her mouth, but she was, underneath it all, happy for him. He loved someone who loved him back, and she couldn't be happier that he found someone.

John was silent, before he nodded in her direction. A silent thank you, a silent sign of gratitude. He had been afraid to tell her for many reasons; and now as the dust settled from his exclamation, he didn't understand why he had been fearful of telling her. His job required a cool and hard exterior, but she was his friend and had been for many years. They had worked together more times than they could count, and though there had been things neither of them knew about the other, they still talked about a lot of things. Their childhoods, school, their dream vacation, their first kills, the kills that kept them up at night…

"I don't want to see you back, Jonathan," she said after a moment. "You get out of this job, and you make a life for you and Helen. You hear me?"

John ran a hand through his hair, and glanced around at the death that surrounded him. He knew what he wanted deep down, but it put everything into perspective when someone else said. He watched Emily for a moment, noticing the cuts to her face, the dark bruises forming on her face, the guilt of her actions weighing her down. She was young and had done and seen so much in her career. And he had done things he regretted even to this day, and over the years, he had come to accept them because he had to move on. But this life… he didn't always want to be a part of this world. His choices had changed, and his life had shifted thus bringing him something he never thought would be possible: love.

John nodded slowly. "You get out, too…" he whispered, and watching as a small smirk formed on her lips and a small chuckle emitted from her, he knew that it wasn't an easy feat to leave such a world behind.

As a knock sounded on the door to the grand mansion, and seeing the familiar faces of the cleaning team, he couldn't shake the darkness that clambered after him. The cleaners restored the house to its previous state; the marble floors having been dulled and stained with blood and cluttered with bodies were now glistening as if they had never been touched.

Emily and John walked out of the house together, side by side. Before they moved to their respectful cars, Emily turned to John and offered him a soft smirk. "Promise me you'll never come back to this world."

"I promise," John nodded, a soft smile forming on his lips. He thought of the potential life he could have with Helen, and his heart swelled with love for her. She didn't know this part of his life, and she didn't have to. He didn't want her to either. Helen knew the kind, quiet and loving man, and that's all she needed to know about him.

Emily extended her hand out to him, and feeling his strong hand envelope hers, she spoke: "It was nice working with you, John Wick."

And as they parted ways for seemingly the last time, neither one of them could ever predict the events that would transpire.


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE  
Three Years Later

Funerals always unsettled Emily Montgomery.

The heaviness of sadness that overwhelmed her was something she could never properly process. The line of work she did always resulted in death; something she had grown accustomed to in her years of professionalism. It was a requirement and a responsibility to ensure that was the idyllic result. She had grown to accept that not everyone was destined to live a full life, and often she was the reason for that. And though her life was anything but normal, she couldn't truly fathom the sorrow she felt within her heart in that moment as she stood amongst the other mourners.

Death, for a normal person, was a sad affair. The pain was permanent, a never-ending array of emotions that would cause a normal person to fight hard to control and maintain. Life was cruel, she understood that wholeheartedly; but when death took away a good person before their time, she was angry and bitter.

Helen's death hadn't been a surprise. She had been terminally ill for a year before death came and claimed her; and even though death had been at her fingertips for the last few months of her life, she had kept a smile on her face. She hadn't let it defeat her in any way. John had been her main carer, finding solitude in ensuring she felt good in herself despite her failing condition. He felt it his duty, as a husband, to provide his wife with the utmost respect and dignity that she had shown him when the nightmares began. He would hold her when the pain became too much, and her body felt as though it was being ripped apart internally; and he would hold her hand when the fever spread like wildfire and she was too uncomfortable to hold close to him.

The hospital had given her the resources she needed, but she understood that was not where she wanted to die. Helen had wanted to return home, to spend her final days with some normality in her life, and John had agreed that it would be best for her to be surrounded by her favourite things instead of a hospital room that adorned blank walls and a sickly scent of death that hung in the air. He had brought her home to their marital home, and he had been there, holding her hand, when she took her last breath. He had laid beside her in their marital bed as her body became still and her hand relaxed in his.

And just like Emily, he wasn't used to losing people he cared about. Death for him always meant the end of an assignment and the start of a new one. He had never encountered how the pain would engulf his very being and cause his world to grow darker than he ever thought possible. The loss of Helen from his life had been hard to cope with, and he believed he would never be able to find peace in life anymore.

And though Emily had only met Helen several times, it was evident the love the two of them shared. Helen adored John, and he idolised her. John had contacted Emily a few months after he fully retired to invite her over to their house; a small dinner party with drinks, music, and stories. He had introduced her to Helen as an old colleague who still worked at the company he had worked at; and she had played along with it, retelling shared stories without going into too much detail. Emily became good friends with Helen, which she hadn't expected, and had a friendship with her away from John. Helen had been everything she had wanted for John, and more.

After a while, she began to refuse the invitations to spend a weekend with them at their house, for dinner parties, for evenings out, citing that work was too busy and she couldn't get away. They both understood in their own ways; Helen seeing nothing wrong with her constant refusal, knowing from John's previous work just how difficult it was for him to get time away to enjoy the simple things in life, but John had known that work wasn't the true reason for her not spending time with having spoken with an old friend about the situation. Marcus had kept him updated on Emily since his retirement, and Marcus had understood that John was looking out for his friend; having left her behind was something he struggled with for a long time. He never questioned her refusal to go to their house, not wanting to pry but he knew she hadn't been on missions like she had told him. For Emily, it was harder being in their company than she could ever imagine and so, she stayed away.

As Emily stood opposite John, with Marcus by her side, she watched as he stared down at the coffin filling the rectangular shaped mouth in the ground. Sobs emitted from the people around her; family members, friends, colleagues, showing their pain and sadness at such a loss. But John had remained calm and collected, his whole demeanour betraying the internal agony he was suffering through; an invisible war his heart was battling. Tears were shed but not his own, and Emily had furrowed her brow even at that. His wife was gone, and he seemed fine. Their gazes had met after a moment, the burning of hers upon him had been intense and never seemed to waver from him, and it was only then that she saw how he truly felt; his dark eyes betrayed him in ways she never thought possible.

John had been the first one to drop dirt onto Helen's coffin; and to him, it was an act of betrayal. Though he would always wear his wedding ring, a sign of a love he once had; it was strange to comprehend life without her. She had come into his life like a whirlwind, and he had lost her just as so. Their short romance had been everything he hadn't ever expected to have, and it had shown him that he could have a normal life with the love of a good woman, but life had funny ways of showing its gratitude and he knew this was a test that he needed to endure. He had known life could never truly be simple; and he instantly knew it was because of the terrible things he was capable of doing that he lost her so soon. Life had dangled happiness on a thread and he had taken the bait like an oblivious fish wanting feed. But one thing was true, and he knew it deep down as he stared at Emily and saw the heartache in her face, that he would do it all again.

..

The house had been filled with chatter, a stark contrast to the usual silence that filled each room. As Helen had returned to live out her final few weeks at home, the house had been silent and calm. She would be sleeping in their bedroom for most of the day, and John would tend to her whenever she stirred or woke up in pain. John had found it difficult to comprehend just how many people filled each room as friends and family of Helen sharing stories of the wonderful woman they had all known and loved. They pulled at him from every direction and he had to remain strong as he spoke about the woman he had cherished more than life itself, all the while breaking apart inside.

All he wanted to do was to tell people to go, to mourn elsewhere, but he knew they needed this. He needed this kind of attention, and underneath it all, it was nice to have people around him. He sought comfort in the kitchen; a haven of some sort, where the sound of chatter was just a low hum and he was able to rest against the cabinets and hide away from view of those who ventured inside.

It was hard putting a brave face on for everyone. His job had required him to keep a neutral expression on his face no matter what he saw or did, but he knew he was failing at trying to keep it all together. It surged through him like an electric bolt at moments when he would forget; it was just for a moment, as he would see the ghost of Helen weave her way through the crowds of people, her beautiful smile beaming out to the world. But realisation would hit him like a freight train and she would vanish as quick as she would appear, and he would find himself physically weaken at the understanding that he would never see her walk in the door after a long day at work, or have her scent waft by him as he woke on the couch from a nap, or feel her soft hands run through his hair as he held onto her in the night. Her laughter would never be heard with his ears again, nor would he ever feel her hand in his.

Helen was gone, and all he had were photographs as evidence that she had been real and a part of his life. It was hard to open his heart to the grief and sorrow he could feel beginning to grasp at him, preventing him to hold onto her love and promise that she would always be there. He was going to war, and he was the only one who could go to battle.

..

Emily found him a short time later. He was in the kitchen, moving glasses marked with lipstick into the dishwasher. At the sound of the door opening, he had glanced up quickly at the sudden noise. Instinct had taught him that much. Once he was reassured that it wasn't a threat as Emily came through the door, something he knew he would have to work on, he placed the last of the glasses in the machine and closed the door. The noise from the dishwasher whirring filled the silence that descended upon them as the door closed behind her.

Emily watched as John pottered around the kitchen, wiping the counters down even though they were gleaming. She moved her head to the ticking of the clock and noticed that it was reaching midnight, and felt herself sigh at the sudden descend into night she hadn't expected. It had been much later than she had realised, and she could understand why John had found refuge in the quietness of the kitchen. He continued to clean the already clean kitchen before he stopped and threw the towel onto the counter in a silent rage.

"I can get them to leave," Emily offered as she placed her half-drunk wine onto the counter. It was warm from the amount of time she'd had it for. She wasn't much of a drinker, usually just having it in her hand for conversation.

John gave her a small shake of the head in response, a hand running through his hair so that it was out of his eyes. He placed his hands on the counter, a way to hold himself up as he felt his legs begin to buckle beneath him. He was exhausted; mentally and physically drained.

"Is there anything you want me to do?" Emily asked, her voice small. She hated the thought of not doing anything to help John when it was obvious that he was struggling in such a way. He offered her another shake of the head and remained quiet, knowing his voice would fail him if he did need help.

"Thank you for coming," John said after a moment. "She would've been so happy to know that you came today."

Emily felt her eyes fill with tears and her lip begin to tremble. "I'm sorry… for everything. For not accepting invitations, for not spending more time with the both of you—"

John raised a hand at her. "It's fine. You don't have to explain."

Emily fell silent then, knowing there wasn't much else she could say. Laughter erupted outside the kitchen door but neither turned towards it. After a moment, John was the one who spoke. "I lost her…"

"You haven't lost her," Emily whispered, her voice failing her. "She's still here. She's in your heart, in your mind…"

"But she's not _here_ ," John said, his voice deep and thick with emotion. "I can't bring her back. I can't hold her anymore. I can't—"

Emily found herself moving around the kitchen island, where she wrapped her arms around John. His body was hard and unmoving, tense and poised as always, but after a moment, she felt his body soften and his strong arms move around her. The hug was short, but it offered them some solace.

"If you ever need anything, day or night, you know where I am," Emily said, pulling away from him. He released his strong arms from around her and stood to his full height.

"Thank you," John nodded and, after a small moment, continued: "Stay safe out there, okay?"

Emily offered a small smile. "I'm always careful, John. You know that."

Emily left the wake a short time later with Marcus who drove her to the airport. The thought of leaving John in a house all alone was difficult, but she knew he would call if he needed anything. As Marcus dropped her off at the airport, he held her a little tighter than usual, the events of the day beginning to take its toll.

"He'll need us more than ever now," Marcus began. "And we will be there for him, no matter what. We don't come into this business to make friends, but he's our friend and we look out for him just like he looks out for us in our times of need."

He waved her off before returning to John's house and helping John with the clean-up. As she boarded her flight, she couldn't shake off Marcus' words to her nor the pain in John's eyes.

..

The apartment was quiet as she pushed open the heavy door. She flicked the lights on, allowing the room to be engulfed with light, and it was then that she noticed that everything was the same as when she had left it just two days before. As she placed her bag down on the floor, slipped out of her coat and shoes and hung the former up on the wall, it dawned on her now the true amount of time she spent at home.

Her job required a lot of field work, and so her apartment wasn't extravagant nor was it filled with unnecessary furnishings. She had lived there for the last five years, but she could only count a handful of times of her being at home and enjoying her space. The apartment was not scattered with personal items, there was nothing in the small apartment to cause it to stand out as Emily's home. It was merely a stepping stone, a respite, a place that always welcomed her back despite what she had done in her time away.

She lived alone in the one-bedroom apartment. The living, kitchen and dining area were all combined; an acquired taste for needing to see and know everything. The windows were large, overlooking the New York City skyline. That was one of the reasons why she always stayed, she guessed; to look down upon the city, knowing that she was able to come and go as she pleased, and knowing that she could get in and out with the hustle and bustle of human traffic on the street below.

But there had been another reason for her stay. She slipped out of her clothes, tiredness overwhelming her in a different way than she was used to, and adorned comfier casual clothes. She sat in the stillness of the room and rested her body into the couch, eyes closed and breathing calm.

A heavy knock sounded on the door. Her eyes flew open as she turned her attention onto the door. She stood, moving towards her desk where she pulled out her pistol, and with the weapon poised, she advanced towards the door slowly. Another knock sounded, and she peeked through the peep-hole that allowed her an insight of who was outside. She brought her gun up, her hand fixed around the small body of the weapon.

She faltered then, as her eyes took in the familiar figure of the man standing on the other side of the door. Light hair, blue eyes, a stark contrast to the true man she loved. She placed the gun into the kitchen drawer and composed herself before opening the door.

"Babe," he said as she opened the door to reveal each other. She offered a smile, as he stepped inside. He placed a kiss upon her forehead before moving past her and making himself comfy on her couch. "You didn't tell me you were back."

"I've only just gotten back," she replied, closing the door and watching as he placed his feet up on the clutter free coffee table.

Jason looked at her, noticing the light make-up painting her face, the way her hair had been tied up but now hung just below her shoulders. Her attire was a simple casual outfit of leggings and an oversized tee. He nodded then. "Work's been crazy since you left. How was the, uh-"

"The funeral," she answered, and saw his face drop.

"I'm so sorry," he said, standing and moving towards her. "I completely forgot. I'm sorry…"

Emily shrugged him off and stepped away from him. She observed his stance: he was a cop, an authority figure. She wanted someone in her life who could protect themselves. He was tall, a little taller than John, and a considerable amount taller than her. His shoulders were broad with muscles to match. He was out of his uniform, and in the usual casual clothes he would wear and what she would usually see him in. Jeans, a tee, and a hoodie.

"I've been thinking for a while," Jason started, edging closer to her. "I want to see more of you. And I understand that you work away most of the time, but I want to take the next step with you."

Emily heard alarm bells ring inside her mind. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, her eyes wide and brows furrowed.

"I know it's a lot to take in," Jason continued, noticing her panic. "But when you're ready then I'm ready."

He closed the gap between them, and ran a hand along her jawline, his thumb skimming over her full bottom lip. He dipped his head slightly and brushed his lips against hers. And though he felt it, he didn't make mention of it: the resistance and hesitation in her returning kiss, the way her hands remained by her side just like they had done many times before. It was as if they were together physically, but her mind was elsewhere.

As he released her, she noticed the thoughtful expression on his face.

"I've missed you," she whispered, her voice low. She kissed him back again, this time with passion. She swallowed the lump in her throat and led him into the bedroom without a second word.

..

It was in the early hours of the morning when she heard a dull buzzing sound coming from a distance. As she opened her eyes slowly and glanced over at her sleeping boyfriend who hadn't stirred at the sound, she looked around at the room, engulfed in darkness.

She had returned on the Friday evening, had spent the entire weekend with Jason and they spoke about their next plans and spoke openly and honestly about what they would like to happen. As she tore her gaze away from Jason and over at the clock beside her bed, she realised that it was just before six a.m. on the Sunday morning. Her senses returned to her slowly, and she soon realised that it was neither her or Jason's phone. Emily felt her heart drop as she moved her gaze over to the wardrobe, as the dull ringing fell silent.

Her work phone was always stashed away when she wasn't working; a habit she had to learn over time. It only had two contacts in it; Marcus and John. And both had taken some sort of retirement; the former realising his age and the latter retiring for other reasons. She slipped out of bed, careful to not rouse Jason from his slumber, just as the phone began to ring again.

Emily unravelled the phone from the scarf she kept it hidden in.

J.W. flashed on the screen and she took a deep breath.

John Wick.

Assassin. Friend. Widower.

Internally, she was reeling. The events after the funeral had taken its toll on her; seeing the internal battle he now faced. He had promised to never call her on that number again. He had promised.

Emily answered and lifted the phone to her ear where his voice filled her ears.

"Are you free?"

She glanced back at Jason's sleeping form. "John… why are you calling me on this number?"

"Something's happened." He said sternly. "I need you."

"Okay," she whispered, after a moment. "I'll be there soon."

The line went dead. She packed quickly, wrote Jason a note and left it by his bedside for when he woke up, and left the apartment just as the sun began to descend upon the city.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Just a quick hello! Thank you to everyone who has followed and favourited this story so far, I really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy! Reviews are welcome and appreciated!_


	3. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

John spent the remaining hours of the night cleaning up the blood that had been shed that evening. The light wooden floorboards had been stained with his blood, as well as the blood from his beloved dog, Daisy. He found refuge upon the floor, his back resting against the hard stability of the couch, with the small bundle that was Daisy wrapped up in a pillow case beside him.

His head was pounding, his body was beginning to hurt from the assault he had endured, but mostly his heart was breaking for the innocent death that had occurred. Daisy had been oblivious to her fate, and for John, that was the best outcome he could have wanted for her; her death was quick, and she didn't feel pain. Or at least, that was what he kept telling himself.

Once the men had left, the house had grown deafly quiet. The little barks from Daisy that would wake him in the night were no more, nor were the little patter of feet behind him whenever he travelled from room to room when sleep evaded him. Her presence within the house when she first turned up at his doorstep had been unknowingly wanted, and she had been one of the best presents he ever received from anybody; and in the short few days of her being his, she had allowed him to have a reason to carry on. The two days of her being the new member of the Wick family had been short and sweet; something John hadn't realised he needed. Helen had known that the loneliness would begin to eat away at him, and so Daisy was the answer. John had loved the dog as soon as she pattered out of the crate and bounded clumsily towards him.

And her death had been too soon. She had been a gift to him from Helen to fill the void once she was gone, and John couldn't shake the sadness he felt within his soul at the thought of her being so mercilessly killed because of greed. Daisy had been his, and should've been his for a long time, and she had been cruelly taken away from him.

He had dragged himself along the floor to her still body, and had cradled her like he had done in the mornings when she would wake and excitedly bound towards him. She would nestle into his warm body and fall asleep once more, before it was time to wake and have some breakfast. He allowed his body to rest against the floor, the sharp pain he felt in his ribs making it hard for him to breath, but he had held her limp body and had begged for her to wake up. When she remained still at his orders, he had to accept the fact that she was gone; which was a lot harder for him to comprehend.

He had heard the yelp emitting from her and the crack of her neck bouncing off every surface. He had wanted it to be a dream, and for him to wake up and be met with licks and kisses from Daisy. But the pain that he felt inside his body from the assault and the heartache of another loss spoke volumes and he knew it was his reality.

He had found the first thing he could think of, and had pulled off the pillow case from her dog bed and had wrapped it around her tiny body. He then placed her in her dog bed while he went down into his basement and found the box he needed. It had been placed in the bottom drawer of his desk; something that he hadn't wanted to bury like everything else.

He had carried the box back up into the house, had ventured into his bedroom where Daisy was laid, and carried her back out into the living room. He tore his eyes away from the sheet, at the markings of blood seeping through the material.

And he had called her; the only person he trusted more than Helen and Marcus. His calls had remained unanswered, until he realised the time, and just when he was going to give up and handle to situation himself, she had answered. Her voice had been groggy from sleep, but he noticed the sense of hesitation when she had said his name. He had promised her that he would never need to call her on that number ever again, and he had believed that, but circumstances were different now.

And he needed her more than ever.

As soon as she had told him she would come to him, he knew he had a few hours to get a few things in order. He had hung up quickly, and carried Daisy downstairs into the basement where he placed her gently upon his chair. The sledgehammer was hanging from the wall, and as soon as he grabbed it, he knew his decision would be one he couldn't come back from easily.

The life he turned away from. The life he gave up for love. The life he promised to never return to no matter what. The promise he had broken to himself.

As the heavy metal connected with the hard concrete, he knew his decision had not been an easy one to make but it was the right one. The people who had come for him, attacked him, killed his dog, were not going to get away with what they had done. There was no way in Hell, he was going to let them forget about what they did. He had told them their actions would cost them, and they had laughed in his face, and now he had a debt to claim back.

An eye for an eye, and all that.

The ground vibrated with his relentless hitting, and when he saw the cracks begin to show in the concrete, he knew he could never go back. Not now, not ever. He had a job to do, and he always made sure he did it to the best of his ability. His usual jobs were from other people, wanting him to do their dirty work, but this was now personal.

And John Wick was not the type of person to just forgive and forget.

..

As Emily drove towards the house, she couldn't seem to shake the sharp and harsh tone of his voice that she'd heard over the phone. She had known something was up from the way he ended the call; quick and abrupt was John Wick's specialty, but not with her. And so, she had found herself leaving New York City and flying out to John as quickly as she could physically get there, and with calls put in place, she was able to rent a car with short notice.

The automatic gate opened slowly, allowing her to gain access to his land, and she furrowed brow against the sunshine that beamed down on them. And it was then that she noticed him sat on the steps, his arms resting against the length of this thighs, his bloodied hands jutting over the edge of his knees, the cuts and marks to his face that he tried to hide with his hair.

As soon as he saw the car coming towards him, he stood at her arrival as she pulled the car to a stop. She remained in the car for a small moment, and they stared at each other through the barrier of the windscreen. His eyes were intense; dark and brooding, but all she could focus on was the blood that adorned his clothing.

"John?" she called for him as she exited the car, her eyes still focused on him. Her mouth was ajar with shock when she realised that the blood was his own.

"Helen… she got me a dog," John began, motioning behind him. From where Emily stood, she was unable to see the bundle placed on the step he had been sat on previously. "I'm guessing to take my mind off losing her for good, and, uh… there were a few guys who wanted my Ford Mustang and the dog Helen got me, and he came for them with his entourage."

As John explained to Emily everything he knew, she took a moment to notice her surroundings. The Ford Mustang he spoke about and had treasured was missing from his drive. The bloodied and riled state of John. And then she took in the tiny bloodstained bundle on the doorstep, still and unmoving.

"Her name was Daisy," John continued. "Helen's request. A beagle puppy. Endless amount of energy."

He trailed off then, turning back to the bundle and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. The puppy had never strayed too far away from in the time that she was in his care, and it felt foreign to not have her scratching at his leg to be picked up, or hearing the little patter of paws following after him.

"He stole my car and killed my dog," John continued once more.

"You know who did it?"

"He was Russian," John explained, recalling the accent. "He was cocky. One of the men called him Iosef, I'm sure."

Emily's eyes widened then. "You don't think… it's Viggo's son?"

John shrugged in response. "It's possible."

"You need my assistance?" Emily asked, and he looked at her then. His eyes narrowed as he shook his head.

"No." His voice was stern. "I'm not letting you get in all of this. I need you to talk to Marcus."

"About?"

"A pardon," John said. "Someone has a debt to pay for what they did, and I need to find out who's behind it all."

..

Emily had left John to his own devices, finding solitude in the living room as he was out in the garden burying Daisy. She had watched him from her seat at the dining table where she sat for a while as she spoke with Jason who had called her on his way to work. He had called a few times, but his calls were all left unanswered as she travelled to John. He was worried, but she quickly reassured him that it was an emergency with work. He was instantly relieved, but told her to keep in contact with him which she had promised him she would.

It was weird how many ties she had made the last few months, some of which she never thought she would ever do. She was a lone wolf who never relied on anyone.

Her next call had been Marcus; who had immediately wanted to know all the details she knew. Marcus had confirmed her own thoughts, and that was to stay with John for as long as he wanted her to, and to never let him to something stupid. He was angry and hurt, and those were not a good combination when dealing with a situation. And the current situation he was in was a difficult one.

"He mentioned that one of the guys called another by the name of Iosef," Emily explained. "You don't think it's Viggo's son?"

"I'm afraid it is," Marcus acknowledged the name she had given him, and it worried him though his voice didn't fail him. "Don't let him do anything stupid, Emily. Don't make him do anything he'll regret."

But it was easier said than done, and she knew John well. He was a complex man who didn't do things without a good reason. He was driven by his heart, and it showed that each job and assignment he was called to was done well.

"Wait," Marcus called back. "Don't tell him. Let me work a deal with Viggo, and I'll call back."

"But he came after John," Emily countered.

"I know," Marcus replied. "I don't want John to get hurt. He came away from this life for a reason, and Viggo was his last assignment. And he made him do unspeakable things, Emily, and we can't have him come face to face with him again."

As soon as the call between her and Marcus ended, she searched for a pen and paper where she documented all the information she had received from Marcus. She ripped the paper from the pad just as John entered the house, his eyes observing her carefully. He furrowed his brow at her and she bit her lip.

"Have you spoken with Marcus?" John asked, to which Emily nodded. "Did he say anything?"

"He's heard a few things from the grapevine," Emily enlightened. "It seems it's making its rounds."

John nodded slowly. "And I'm guessing he told you to babysit me, and to not make me do something I'd regret?"

"You know what Marcus is like," she replied. "He just wants to keep you safe, that's all."

"Do you know who it was who did it?" John asked, narrowing his gaze at her, and she looked away then. "Who did it?"

The piece of paper in her hand became heavier as John's voice filled her senses. She knew if the whole situation was turned around and she had been attacked that he would be there to tell her who was capable of doing such things. He would've been there for her in a heartbeat, just like she had been for him.

She stepped forward and passed the paper to him. "I haven't technically told you but everything you need to know is in there."


	4. Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Emily's familiar scrawl that was etched into the piece of paper burned in his mind as he forced himself to remember it off by heart. He and Emily had taken refuge in the kitchen as John busied himself with brewing coffee for them both; knowing he needed to keep his mind pre-occupied as he decided what his next action was going to be. Emily sat at the breakfast bar, tapping her fingers against the cold marble counter. As he poured the dark hot liquid into cups, he slid one towards Emily who quietly thanked him.

He remained standing and leaned against the counters, his eyes watching as Emily absentmindedly took a sip and wincing at the hot liquid. She was impatient, exhausted. He knew she had travelled to him as fast she physically could, and he was grateful that she had been there for him. The night had been slow and haunting for him to comprehend fully, but having Emily be in his company was something he didn't realise he needed. They worked together well, having formed a true friendship despite the many times they came face to face when working. He had saved her life a few times, just like she had saved his. There was a mutual understanding between them both; and even though the situation was different, and it was now John facing such a dilemma, it was comforting to know she was there for him as a friend.

Friendships were hard to build in their world. Their line of work was difficult, separate and grim. And it was tough to keep friendships with normal people, never mind with other assassins. They would stumble across some of them at the Continental who would always be around and taking refuge in the safe haven, and there would be others who they would never see again. It was a game of life and death; where friendships were always off the table.

But they had forged a friendship, and it had lasted which was something they both were grateful for.

Emily placed the mug down on the table and turned her attention towards John. She furrowed her brow. "What's your plan, John?"

John faltered at her question. He hadn't known what he was going to do; the anger in his heart was the only thing fuelling him. He knew it was a toxic component to rely on, but it was often the only thing to carry him through to the end. He thought back to the piece of paper, with all the relevant information on it, and wondered what he wanted to do. His deceased wife had given him a gift to help him mourn her death, so that he would have something to rely on him for care and love, but Daisy had also been something for him to focus his attention on and care for something as she knew caring for himself wouldn't be his main priority. A puppy had been a welcome relief for him, but it had been cut short. And he didn't want to admit that he was struggling to cope with that additional loss.

"I don't know," he responded honestly. "I've not thought too far ahead."

Emily nodded and took a sip of her coffee. "That's probably the best thing."

She knew it all too well, and she knew going in with haste wasn't the ideal thing to do. You had to be calculated, knowing, and sure of your actions and the possibilities whether they were good or bad. But the furrow of his brow caused her own to dip slightly as she saw it in his eyes; the anger, the frustration, the true loss. The dog had meant something to him in the short time of her being in his life, and Emily could only feel for him. She had known loss but not in the same extent as John had.

He had lost his wife too soon, and in a way where every day was uncertain. To watch someone you love grow increasingly ill must have been the hardest thing to comprehend. To know that there was nothing they could do to help ease her pain or to take the cancer away was frustrating in many ways. He had loved so much, and he had lost so much.

"Are you back?" Emily asked the burning question that she'd had as soon as she saw him sat on the doorstep waiting for her. She had wanted to ask him before now, but every moment didn't seem right.

"I'm not letting those men get away with what they did," John responded, his voice hoarse and full of anger. The faces of the men flashed in his memory and he took in every feature of them, hoping that his exhausted mind would remember the slightest details. It was tough, his memory affected by the blow to the head after the beating he had been given. But as he moved his gaze away from Emily, he knew he hadn't answered the question for he was scared. He could feel it in his heart that his return to that world would not go unnoticed, but he had been burned by the son of a man who had been his last mission.

If he admitted to Emily that he was back, there was no way he could get out of what the future held. It was possible that his actions towards the Tarasov family would be the catalyst of any further issues he would encounter… but he wasn't going to let them get away with it. He couldn't.

"Go take a shower," Emily suggested, motioning towards his bloodstained attire. She noticed his aversion to her question and knew it was an unspoken answer. He looked down at himself then and noticed the blood still staining his clothes and skin. He nodded absentmindedly and moved towards the kitchen door.

He turned back to Emily and stared at her. She kept his gaze strongly. "I have to do this," he whispered, to which she nodded knowingly. And she understood his reasons and couldn't fault his decision.

He moved to leave the room but was stopped by the ringing of his phone.

..

Viggo Tarasov didn't know what made him call John Wick in that moment. The appearance of his son after a twelve-day binge had been a startling one, and Viggo had known instantly that something wasn't right. It was an intuition he'd always had, especially in the world he was so used to, that his son's sudden appearance usually meant he had done something to which he would then have to clean up his mess.

Iosef had always been the difficult child, ever since he was born. Viggo had two other children including Iosef who had both been dreams compared to Iosef and his troubles. The wild child, the party animal, the brat… Iosef always made sure he kicked up a fuss over the littlest of issues which would then create even bigger problems for himself and his father. Viggo could never understand why Iosef always seemed to drag his feet in the mud for he had given his son everything he ever could've wanted, and yet somehow, it was never good enough.

But Iosef's appearance had spelt danger, and Viggo could see it in his son's eyes that something wasn't right.

"What have you done?" he had asked, a hint of venom in his voice.

Iosef had ignored him and poured himself a drink. Viggo watched his son ignore him for another moment before he wiped his brow.

"Nothing, Father," he responded after a moment. "Why would you say that?"

"It seems as though you have been causing trouble for me, son," Viggo commented, his voice strangely calm despite the anger bubbling inside his veins. He watched as his son turned his attention to his father, as he drank a large gulp of whiskey.

"I haven't done anything," Iosef commented quickly, his sole attention on his father now. Viggo shook his head and bit his lip, the dark taste of whiskey stuck to his lips. He understood from Iosef's reaction that his son had been up to something untoward, tarnishing the family name Viggo had worked hard to create. They were invincible, but Iosef seemed to have other ideas when it came to keeping their name known. "I swear, Father… anything I've done was for a reason…"

Viggo turned then, staring at the face of a son who had once wanted to follow in his father's footsteps but was now causing him more trouble than he had expected a son would. "So… you have been doing something. What have you done?"

"This guy… he… was asking for it," Iosef was quick to answer, knowing his father's wrath was something he didn't want to experience again. "He was baiting me and my friends… and so we taught him a lesson…"

"Who?"

"I don't know… some guy," Iosef shrugged. "We beat him up good, stole his car… Vlad didn't mean to kill the guy's dog…"

Viggo downed his drink and placed the empty glass upon the bar surface. "And you don't know who the guy was?"

"No… like I said, he was just some guy who needed to be taught a lesson…" Iosef explained, his voice calming. Viggo closed the gap between his son then, and tapped him on the shoulder, the anger bubbling away at the surface. His face remained emotionless, but as he took a deep breath, he raised his arm up and struck his son across the face.

His son reacted, wincing at the strike to his face, and reeled away from his father quickly. "What was that for?" he cried out, the startling pain erupting across his face.

"You piss my name up the wall," Viggo seethed, his voice thick with anger. "You and your _friends_ spend my money like it's nothing and then I have to pick up the pieces of everything you destroy and pay people off because you can't seem to stay in line. There's no respect to me or your mother from you, and we're supposed to clean up the messes you make. And that isn't going to happen anymore!"

"But—"

"Get out of my sight." Viggo said sternly. "I'm going to make a few calls and clean up this mess you've made."

Iosef remained there for a moment before nodding and rushing out of the room. Viggo was expecting to hear the front door slam shut but he heard his son rush upstairs to his room. He heard the door to a bedroom shut in the distance and he made his way over towards the phone. He pulled out his notebook and searched for the name he'd been thinking of since he heard of Iosef's escapades.

He pressed in the number and lifted the piece to his ear. It rang for a few moments before it was picked up on the other end.

"John," he said after a short silence after the call connected.

"Viggo."

..

One thing Emily had learned from her job was that loyalty was something that ran deeper than anything else.

There were some connections she had made where one meeting had been all a relationship had been; and others had become unbreakable. Her relationship with John had started on the wrong foot, and she had doubted her actions in that moment. It seemed a long time ago since their first ever meeting, but she remembered it like it was just yesterday. It had been her first mission and it had gone horribly wrong from the start; a few agents had been sent out to take down a corrupt underground drug lord who had been dealing counterfeit drugs to those of higher superiority in society. As the death toll increased and the world was shaken by their sudden and questionable deaths, the job had been placed in their hands.

The underground world had been expecting them and had retaliated, and no amount of training seemed to benefit them. But he had walked in as bullets rained upon them, and he had given them all the confidence and courage to do what they were trained to do. She had been nicked by a bullet and had been enough to take her off her feet, but he had been there in an instant. He had knelt beside her and patched her up and had protected her from the onslaught of bullets as they made their escape.

And to see him standing there in front of her after everything they had been through was a crazy realisation. They had always had each other's backs after that moment, when her life flashed before her eyes and he had been her beacon of hope. And when the world had darkened around them, they had both pulled each other out of the pit of darkness they found themselves in. It had always been that way, and she knew it always would be that way.

"Your son… he attacked me in my home," John began. "He killed my dog. And he stole my car."

Viggo was silent on the other end and Emily watched John turn to her and their eyes met.

"I imagine you're surprised that I'm the one who he did that to," John added after the moment of silence on Viggo's end.

 _"What do you have planned, John?"_ Viggo asked, his voice low and understanding.

John was not a man to just let things go, especially when they happened to him or his friends.

"I think you know what I have planned, Viggo," he responded coldly.

 _"John, we can tal—"_ John cut the call and laid the phone on the coffee table, where he then took a seat opposite Emily.

"What do you have planned?" Emily asked the same question Viggo had asked him. The phone rang again but John was quick to silence it and it continued to vibrate on the glass surface.

"He's someone's son," John acknowledged. "He's Viggo's son… but he was capable of all of _this_ …"

Emily sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Your silence speaks volumes, John. He knows you mean it. You could play with him for a few days, build up the apprehension, enough for him to break and call to make a deal. Or…"

"Or, I could stamp the fire out before it destroys everything else," John added to which Emily nodded.

"Time is of the essence, John," Emily commented. "And I'm here for whatever you decide to do."


End file.
